Blinded
by Adahanne
Summary: There was no one to blame, and that was what made them the furious. Desperately searching for a scape-goat, they send the recluse to a death in exile. Had the girl any luck, that would've been what had happened. She could've passed with nothing but a vague legend to her name. Her life could've been simple, but, as she had come to suspect, her luck had run out long ago.
1. Chapter 1

The lord and his lady looked out on the garden from their balcony. The Lord heard his wife sigh quietly beside him, and he grasped her hand. They had been too lenient on their youngest daughter. They both knew this well enough. She had been born after the Lord and Lady had left the courts to settle down in the countryside. They had been tired of the politicking, and their getting older finally gave them excuse to find refuge in the outskirts of the Kingdom. At the age of 11, though, the young girl was still being spoiled far too much. Girls her age had already begun learning the delicate process of managing courtly practices, yet their daughter was running through the garden below. Running was in itself enough to ostracize any noble, but even more so, their daughter was running with the daughter of a maid for company. Already her fair complexion was beginning to brown and freckle under the glow of the sun. It was even beginning to have an effect on their oldest son. It was true; they had been too lax with their children. This nonsense of playing with a maid's daughter had to stop. The lady sighed once more, and the lord knew what they were both thinking. One more week. They would give the girl one more week to live as she wished as they found a tutor for her. By her next birthday they would send her to court. Hopefully by 14 they would still be able to find a suitable husband for her.

She did not hunt often. It was enough of a challenge to locate prey, but her lack of sight added another problem: she could hardly ever find arrows after she shot them. A soft sigh escaped from the huntresses' lips. She knew quite well that winter would be coming once again, and she would need the smoked meat to help her survive. She had barely made it through the last one. She pulled the animal skins tighter around her body. She supposed she could just steal meat from a village, but the idea displeased her. It was not that she had qualms from stealing from the humans. Her boots and her reputation were good evidence that stealing (and all around causing trouble) for the humans pleased her quite a bit, but it also meant taking a risk, and that alone gave her pause. No, the huntress decided. She would hunt for now, and she would leave the thievery as a last resort. It was better this way. She wouldn't have to wash the stench of their society off her skin later. She heard a snap, and she paused in her walk. It was undeniably the steps of an animal. A rather large one, she guessed, probably a deer. It was being rather careless with its steps, but perhaps it was just stupid.

She followed closely, arrow prepped in her bow. Thankfully she was down-wind and she used that to her advantage. She was getting closer. She crouched, and waited for the beast to move near. She shifted her weight and heard a soft crunch as a result. She cursed under her breath, listening desperately to see if the deer had heard. The footsteps had stopped, but it seemed hesitant to flee. A vapid beast indeed, the huntress thought to herself. However, its stupidity was her good fortune. She knew it wouldn't be the best shot, but she knew she would have to take this risk. She pulled hard on the bowstring.

"Is anyone there?" A voice called, and the crouching hunter loosed her arrow in surprise. Humans were not supposed to be here. However she barely had to time to think about this before the feminine voice cried out in pain. The huntress cursed once again. She would have to leave the arrow. She moved to flee, but she paused. She didn't really care about the wounded girl, but the huntress hadn't gone too far from her home. None would come to search for the girl as was, but if the girl began to yell too loudly… they weren't so far that the noise wouldn't reach a neighboring village. It could be enough to cause the especially curious and foolhardy to come. With a swirl she marched up to the whimpering mess lying on the forest floor. Without a second thought, she knocked the girl out with a quick blow. Then, with deft fingers, she searched for the arrow. The huntress sighed once more when she found it lodged in the girls' lower calf. It had been a perfectly good arrow, one of the best the huntress had made. Now, however, the huntress broke the arrowhead off it as easily as she had knocked the girl out. She pulled out the shaft and then quickly reached and tore off a layer of fabric the girl was wearing, wrapping the fabric tightly around the wound. Nothing severe had been hit. The girl, obviously, was quite lucky. If she hadn't spoken, she surely would've been dead. A lead weight sat heavily in the bottom of the huntress's stomach. She would have to be more careful. This was already too much trouble caused by an idiot human.

With a grunt, the huntress pulled the girl over her shoulder. Another example of how lucky the girl was. If she had been any heavier, the huntress would've been forced to leave the girl to the wolves. However, having wolves around one's home was trouble enough, and so the huntress carried the girl back to her house. She would return later that night to cover the blood with dirt and check her snares for any meat. But, as the huntress already suspected, her own luck had run out a long time ago.


	2. Chapter 2

_Their daughter had protested at first. Her parents, however, never got mad at her. They knew that it had be their decisions that caused their daughter to struggle with her lessons. She wanted to be playing again, and she saw no reason to learn the way of the court. There were multiple times when their daughter had been caught playing once again with the maid's daughter. It had gotten to the point where the maid and her daughter both had to be sent away. The girl had cried in her rooms for days. The lady had often wanted to go and comfort the girl, but her lord's words stopped her. There would be little comfort for the girl when she left. She had to learn to be strong. The lady remembered well her own life and the times she had been ridiculed merely out of spite and petty jealousy. She had played those games herself, once. Yes, her daughter would have to be strong indeed. They could no longer spoil her as they had. And, fortunately, the lady did not have to wait long for their daughter. After she emerged from her rooms, she pursued her studies almost doggedly. _

The huntress slathered the girl's wound with a thick cream. It was cold to the touch, and the stench clogged the room, but it would keep the wound from festering. Touch told the huntress that the girl's skirts were quickly getting shorter. Soon all that would be left would be a thin silky material that the huntress had never encountered before. It seemed highly impractical to the huntress, but she couldn't deny that a part of her enjoyed the softness of the material as she brushed against it to tear yet another strip from the girl's dress. Her wound was being rather slow to heal, and it frustrated the huntress to no end. She couldn't keep drugging the girl with her sleeping concoction, but she still hadn't come up with a way to deal with the girl. The last time the girl had awoken she had reopened the wound while trying to escape. It was an easy task to knock her out again, and the huntress would not deny that a dark part of her enjoyed venting her frustration. She also couldn't deny that a very tiny part of her felt guilty at that dark, bitter joy. Guilt was easy to smother, however, and she knew that if she hadn't done as she had, the girl would've died by nightfall. With this thought, she tied the makeshift bandage tightly around the girl's wound. The huntress' sleeping potions were only so strong, and the only reason they had worked thus far was because the girl's body was trying to repair itself. Once the girl's body grew stronger, the huntress could no longer force her to sleep as she had. She was already too aware that the girl was growing thinner. The huntress sighed. She would go to town tonight to steal some food and skins. There really wasn't another option anymore. If she let the girl go, she could go to the villages and ruin the reputation the huntress had so aptly built, or she would attract any number of predators to the area. However if the huntress let her die, the body would scare away prey for weeks, if not longer. No, she was stuck caring for the wretched human. That made up her mind. She would give herself two more days of drugging the girl. She would offer food to the girl, and hope that was enough to make her stay. If the vapid human still insisted on running away, then predators be damned. They'd surely be less annoying. With a nod of her head, the girl grabbed a worn cloak from beside the door.

By now it was late evening, and she knew it would be dark by the time she reached the closest village. It did not matter to her, however. She had long ago been forced to memorize the way, and the blades at her sides assured her that she could handle a predator if necessary. Still, she was weary as she closed the door behind her. This is what those humans did to her. They made her all too aware of the empty rucksack bouncing lightly across her back. Sounds that she normally tuned out with ease flooded her senses. She shivered as she felt wind blow across her skin mockingly. Her body felt leaden, though she knew she moved rather stealthily through the woods. They made her afraid, and she hated them the more for it. She knew that if they truly saw her, they would see the marks she bared. If they truly saw her, they would lose their fear, and instead see a misshapen coward. She pulled her hood down lower over her head. They would not see her tonight, however. They would only see her persona, the beast of Waverly forest. None who dared enter her forest left. With a wicked smile, she forced her fears back to the recesses of her mind. She used her heightened senses to monitor the forest around her.

An owl cried out in the distance, but there was nothing else to be heard. The wind warned of winter's approach, but it still was warm enough that she felt comfortable under her cloak. Leaves rustled around her, and the owl cried occasionally, but otherwise the night was still. There was a time in her youth that she wondered what her forest home had looked like. She had heard it described, once, that the trees were green, and the bark was brown, but she hardly knew what any of it meant. Instead she interpreted her world through other means. In the hot seasons she would walk barefoot and feel the dirt and roots beneath her feet. She had long ago learned how to use her feet to check the path in front of her. The result was a somewhat peculiar gait, but there was hardly anyone to impress in the woods. She used her ears to listen to the world around her. She listened carefully for birdcalls. They assured her that predators were not around. While her lack of sight did cause problems, it also granted a certain level of freedom. She moved easily no matter the time of day. While humans could not function without their light, it mattered not to her whether the sun was up or down. It was exactly for this reason that she stole so easily from the villages. Some of the richer storeowners had taken to hire guards to defend their wares, but this only made her more excited. Sleep-deprived, frightened guards were better at telling grandiose stories then actually protecting anything. Often she would break into these stores on purpose. She could easily sneak by sleeping guards, or lure them away, and leave the store doors wide open. However she was always careful not to touch anything while in these stores, except a few necessities that were easily overlooked. She never stole everything she needed from one store. Instead she would steal a single fur here, another down the block. Always they would be small, almost unnoticeable. Hers was a vague legend, and that was for the best. Most people truly didn't believe that any beast existed. They believed her to be merely the product of tired minds, and rebellious kids. Stories were vague enough that any "sighting" of her merely made the reporter seem like an attention-grabber. In fact, numerous times it was just that. She merely was not worth the hassle of more interest. However, it was a superstitious lot, and the stories kept the people out of her woods. Just as she wanted. These woods were hers, and she was theirs.

However, it was now on the very outskirt of a village that the huntress now appeared. She crouched right before she entered the clearing, listening carefully to the sounds in the night. This village had yet to hire guards it seemed, and this vaguely annoyed her. It was undeniably less fun to torment someone, when they offer no challenge in return. With a sigh, she stood and walked into the village. It must be late this night, because even town drunks made no sound of exclamation to her sudden appearance. If even they were asleep, she'd have to be quick so no early risers would become aware of her presence. Their voices were much more credible than local drunkards claiming to see a ghost in the night. The huntress quickly paced towards a building she knew would contain much needed supplies. This building was hardly ever locked, and it was for precisely that reason that she saved thieving here for situations that required speed. She would have suspected that the owner here was merely more foolish than the rest, but she had long since stopped believing that for he had caught her once. It seemed that he had noticed odd tidbits of meat missing, and had decided to wait for the thief. She had strolled in, overconfident in her ability then, only to find herself quickly wrestled to the floor. She was trapped, hands pinned against the dirt floor. She knew that her hood had fallen in the scramble, and she felt his gaze on her, though she knew that feeling was merely a product of her mind. She uncontrollably flinched as she heard a low whistle from the form on top of her. "Jus' a girl…" a gruff voice said, and she immediately turned harsh. She spat at him, but if she hit her target, she did not know.

He made absolutely no movement on top of her. But as suddenly as he had come, his weight left her. She quickly scurried to her feet and listened carefully for his breathing. She heard a low sigh and she quickly turned her head to glare at him. "Blind, too?" he whispered. Panic overcame her, then, and without a second thought for her pride; she fled as quickly as she could. She had torn through the woods recklessly that night, not stopping until she had reached the hovel. She had curled up on the floor that night and had cried from the pure flood of terror that had filled her. She had cautiously returned a week later, but he had not been there. In fact, it seemed no one was any more aware of her presence then they ever had been. It was as if that night had never happened in their minds. At least, it had seemed that way until she carefully searched his shop the next night. It seemed he had left a platter of meats behind, all smoked to keep from rotting while they waited. They seemed too patient to her, too expectant, and in a petty fit of rage she had knocked the entire tray to the ground. Seconds after the tray crashed to the ground, the huntress had fled once again. When the huntress had returned out of desperation, the tray no longer laid waiting, but still her skin crawled. It was for this reason that the huntress rarely returned to this store, but here she was, glaring at a door that she couldn't even see. She felt it's rough wood beneath her fingers for a second, briefly trying to quell the terror that filled her memory. She loosed a long breath, and then twisted the smooth handle. The door opened easily beneath her hand. She paused for a second, and then stepped cautiously inside. She quickly began to search. She didn't know what exactly for. Of course she would grab some necessities before she left, but there were times, like tonight, that she would indulge herself out of spite for the man. It was how she had come across her boots. They must've been expensive, and the thought that they were now hers made her smile. However, she stiffened as she heard the door softly close and the locking mechanism click into place. Horror grew in her as she heard a soft chuckle. She had fallen for his trap again.

Dear Friends,

I will keep these author notes sparse, but now that story has progressed, I would like to ask three things:

Would this be a story that you would like to see continued?

If the answer to the first is yes, then anyone be willing to proofread for me?

Because the main character is blind, I've made sure not to include visual details. This is new to me as a writer, and I feel that it may have left my writing a bit stunted. Would it perhaps be better to include visual details but leave the main character blind to it? Or, is it truly fine as is?

I do not ask the first question to beg for compliments. Rather, I'd prefer constructive criticism. I cannot improve unless I am stretched, and I will not be stretched unless I have your help, my lovely readers. Thank you so much for reading this story thus far, and I hope to hear from you very soon!

Sincerely,

Adahanne


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you Catmouse and Karina Marinaiov for the wonderful encouragement! Catmouse, I hope this chapter provides clearer descriptions of the dreaded Beast Of Crowley Forrest.

Reviews, especially constructive criticisms, are welcomed

Sincerely,

Adahanne.

* * *

_ He still remembered a time when she had grasped his leg and smiled up at him with endearingly blue eyes. That time was gone now. Their daughter curtsied, as was the expected greeting for a Lord above her position. A quiet 'milord' and a complacent smile were upon her lips. Her body was still that of a child's, but she already behaved as a lady. In fact, the Lady thought, there is a disdain too old for her in those eyes. A disdain for them, the Lady thought. This realization would've made a weaker woman stagger, but the Lady didn't so much as bat an eyelash. Later that night her husband would hold and console her as she sobbed, but that moment would be saved behind locked doors. A noblewoman did not cry in public. Not even in front of one's daughter. Especially not in front of one's daughter. Nobles were not afforded the causal affection commoners so valued. Often those same commoners thought them lofty and cruel, and perhaps it was true that they were so, but that was the price the nobles paid for their position. The peasants worked in the fields, and mined iron, but the nobles had to be made of steel. The Lady felt a hand on her waist and she nodded. Her daughter would think of it as merely a normal greeting, but the Lord would understand. They must continue this horrid charade for the sake of their daughter's future success. Perhaps they could undo some of the damage when their daughter was older, and more established. The Lady knew that was unlikely. This was their lot in life. Each generation must learn that aid will not come and retribution shall always be swift and merciless. Their failure, after all, could bring a Kingdom to its knees. _

He had chuckled. How could he help it? Though the people were too superstitious to enter the forest, few truly believed the legends about the Beast of Crowley Forrest. They were too vague, too mixed, and too few in number. Too put it simply, they were too preposterous to be true. Yet, here he was, caging the mysterious Beast in his shop like a fool. Yes, it was true that he was a fool but even he could see how dangerous his position was. His eyes were drawn to her silver blades that dimly reflected the light from the candles he had left burning. He knew, blind or not, that she could kill him if she found him. He moved quietly away from the door. He hadn't wanted to do this. He hadn't wanted to put either of them in this situation again, but he needed information, and she was the only person that might be able to give it. Already he noticed that her head moved back and forth and she listened for his footsteps. A black snake. That's what she was with her knotted raven hair, and glistening blades. He took a careless step backward, away from her, and he knew too late he had made a mistake. She sprinted towards him with undeniable accuracy. She clearly had memorized the layout of his shop. He tried to be clever, and stepped lightly away, but this too she judged, and he saw it in her eyes. Abandoning his plan, he ran. He grabbed a wooden cutting board just as her metal fangs lunged at him with lightning precision. He felt and heard the two twin thunks her blades made when they slashed the board. By the king's beard she was fast! He jumped back as she quickly changed direction and instead went for his sides. Almost without conscious thought he knew two things: those blades were poisoned, and that he would too soon tire to keep out of her reach. This had to end. She lunged forward. He ducked, dropping the board to the floor as he did so, and metal hissed over his head. He stood and cringed slightly as his blow connected. He hadn't meant to hit her quite so hard, but the effect was what he wanted.

She grabbed her abdomen and her knives fell to the floor. He quickly kicked them out of her reach. He felt an elbow pressing into him and a weight knocked him harshly to the ground. His breath left him. He wheezed. And he rolled barely diverting a punch. He wrestled the lithe beast and pinned her to the floor just as he had before. She fought against his weight, but for all her muscle, she was still underfed and a woman. Ah, but she fought something fierce! He tried to say stop, but his breath still wheezed out of him, and he couldn't force the words out. And as he stared down at her, trying desperately to gain his breath back, a part of his brain was drawn to the scars on her hand, and her face. Just as it had, the candlelight seemed to outline the "x" drawn roughly over her skin. They had used a dull blade so the scars were sure to remain. "Stop" he said. Yet she did not. Not even a trace of recognition of the word flickered on her face. Aye, she aptly fit her legend; vague and beastly. It seemed to fit, then, that he did what he usually did when attempting to calm a wild animal; he sang. It was a poor song. Really it was more rasping than recognizable vocals, but movement beneath him began to cease. He didn't care the reason, he just cared that it was working. "I need to talk to you," he said.

"No" she hissed. When was the last time that she had spoken? She had at least responded, but even her voice didn't sound human.

"There was a girl. She ran away maybe two weeks ago. Have you seen her?" He cringed. He had sounded much too desperate to get information. He cursed when she finally smiled.

"Shot her," she said. Her voice purred like a cat that'd been given a mouse, and a deep knot settled in his chest.

"She's…" but he couldn't bring himself to say the word. Rose, he thought desperately.

"dead," she finished almost gleefully. Her smile didn't falter, and he searched her face with imploring eyes. All he saw were cold, milky eyes that stared deadly through him, and the equally dead scars that marked her. This was truly the Beast of Crowley Forrest. With stunted, shocked movement he moved off her. That was it, then. She leapt to her feet with surprising grace and bolted for the door. As she struggled to find the locking mechanism he went and picked up her daggers. She paused as she heard him moving closer, and then began searching the door frantically. He could see her hands shaking. She was afraid. He supposed that she should be. She somehow knew what lay in his hands. The snake had been defanged, and now she would try to escape with her life. But death was not his intent this night.

"Your daggers" he said and watched as she froze. He put them in her now still hands. Within a second he was pushed against the wall, daggers at his throat. He gulped, adrenaline pumping once more through his system.

"No mercy" she hissed once more, but he didn't know if she was speaking to herself or him. "Unlock," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the door. He reached over and turned the bolt. He closed his eyes and waited for the sharp bite of her metal. Instead he felt cold night air as she opened the door, and ran. The sun had just begun to rise over the forest, and in it's light he saw the dark-haired girl sprint towards the safety of its branches. He smiled, and surely thought himself clever, because he had discovered a secret tonight. The beast was surely a liar and cruel, but she was not a murderer. He had no doubts that Rose was in far better care than she had been. That was enough. He turned back to his shop, surveying the damage that had been done. Despite the voracity of the fight, surprising little had actually been done to damage to surroundings. The cutting board he had used as a shield lay abandoned on the ground; two thin cuts marred its surface. He had knocked down a few miscellaneous items while he had dodged, and was surprised to find a broken plate among their number. He hadn't heard it shatter. But then he had been focusing on more important information at the time. It also surprised him that really he had caused all the damage.

Now that he wasn't at risk for dying, he marveled at her memory… her prowess, for that was the only word that seemed to suit her. Graceful did not suit her, for that seemed too feminine and beautiful for her. The Beast of Crowley was not beautiful, although he supposed she could've been given different circumstances. As it were, though, she was merely… definite. She moved fluidly, but with strict efficiency. She moved as a woman did when they knew they possessed power, and authority. It was a surprising contrast with her appearance. The girl always looked half-starved, and her growth had been stunted as a result. Her hair was knotted, dull and brittle due to poor care. Yet she never cowered. She was a girl of action, and even when she was afraid, she did not stop fighting. She always kept going. And though she may have shot Rose, he hadn't been sure if that was a lie or not, he had no doubt that Rose's life was not in peril. Perhaps the so-said Beast was less a beast than the girl liked to admit even to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

_The lady was wondering through the house, when an increasing familiar voice sounded, muffled, from her daughter's room. Inwardly she winced, but she did not allow such emotions to show on her face. Instead, she straightened, her chin lifting. With a soft flourish of dramatics, that all nobility are prone to, and a soft swish of her skirts, she pushed open the door, knowing immediately what she would find. Two wild haired girls jumped rather raucously on the feathered mattress. By all appearances, the two girls looked like they could've been sisters. Both bared sun-lightened hair, tan skin, and numerous freckles across their faces. Both wore broad smiles as the maid tried desperately to calm the children and get them off the bed before "the Lady comes". Well the lady was here, and her heart stung at what she saw. It was not because she was disappointed with her daughter; it was because she was disappointed with herself. With what she knew she would have to do one day, because if she didn't then her daughter would be torn apart and thrown away. Like garbage. Because, though the two girls looked like sisters, they were not made of the same material. One only had to look at the fabric that graced the two writhing figures as they took flight to know that one was clearly the daughter of the Lady, and one was clearly the daughter of a maid. Their worlds were too far different, the expectations for both so great, that they would not be able to remain in the same orbit for long. They would have to be torn apart sooner or later, and the pain would be less if it were sooner rather than later. Sparing one last look at her daughter's smiling face, willing it to be imprinted forever in her memory, the Lady decided it was time to make her presence known. _

_ "What seems to be going on here?" The maid started, and whirled around eyes wide for just the briefest of seconds before dropping into a nearly knee-breaking curtsy, her eyes lowering even further than her knees could bend. The lady saw the situation for what it was; here she stood tall, eyes raised and defying, while the maid before her was nearly prostrate. _Different in stations, indeed_ the Lady thought with a slight sneer of self-derision. How many times had she wished she could rush to her child, as she seen this maid do, when her daughter fell and scraped her knee? How many times had she wished to laugh without regard for who was watching and what they thought? How long had she wanted to escape from the nobility, who were so embittered by their own lives, and responsibilities, that they held to protocol so tightly in the desire to make others miserable, and thus strengthened the noose they so desperately wanted to be rid of? The nobility were all educated; they all knew what they did. Yet not a one could figure out how to be rid of the noose without hanging themselves. And if they were to be honest with themselves, which they very rarely were because the lies were so much easier, then they might admit that being free of their bondage terrified them. So each hoped, and dreaded, that another might be the stone that brought their gallows to the ground. Many, like the Lord and his Lady, ran to the countryside as soon as they were able. It was also easier to deal with the lies when they didn't glare at in the form of another every time you walked through the hallways._

_ "Milady, please forgive me." The Lady's eyes flickered back down to the maid, still bent at the knees as she was, and a soft breath, nearly a sigh, brushed past her lips. How long must the maid have been positioned so as to have enough time to work up the courage to speak? "You are dismissed," She said with a flick of her wrist. Her eyes closed as she heard the maid's bones creak and snap as she stood; each noise was a sharp reprimand to not let one's mind wander, especially on silly notions. She only heard the swish of fabric as the maid and her daughter brushed past her through the narrow gap between the Lady's frame and the door, and so it was when she felt a soft brush against her arm that her eyes were startled open and her hand reached out to grab the tender arm of her youngest child. Startled blue-grey eyes flickered between looking at the Lady's face and the floor as if the girl's childish brain could not determine the proper protocol, as if she could not remember whether she was a lady or a maid. That would have to stop very soon… but perhaps it could be saved for another night. She wanted to see her daughter smile again. "Perhaps a story is in order," she said as she gazed down into eyes that would've looked like hers had the Lady remembered how to fill her own with warmth. And joy. _Such a spoiled, beautiful daughter I have raised_ she thought. Mixed emotions flooded her as she guided her daughter towards her bed, mainly shame, and pride, and love, and dread. If only she were brave enough, strong enough to raise her daughter properly in the ways of nobles. If only she were brave and strong enough to be a stone and make sure no child ever had to be raised in the ways of nobles again. For now, she was neither, and she cleared her throat so that she could tell her daughter a story. So hopefully one day her daughter could understand, and if the Lady truly dared to hope, and so that her lovely daughter could perhaps have the strength that the lady did not. _

Her heart pounded a loud, nearly deafening, tattoo in her ears. Her feet added a ragged bass, and her breathing was nearly as sharp as the exhale of a woodwind. Yet none of it was loud enough to drown out her roaring thoughts. She pushed herself to move faster, trying to get away; to run from the man, the panic, and the thoughts that threatened to consume her. He had seen her, not the legend that she wore as armor, but her. She had been laid naked and bare by his eyes, and she hated it him for it. And she feared him for it. So she ran like an animal escaping from a hunter. One foot after the other, and one loud, desperate breath trying to knock the thoughts from her head. Her panic clouded her brain and she only ran, hoping that her feet would instinctively know the way to get home. Limbs and roots grabbed at her skin and limbs, but she welcomed each slash of pain they brought her. For a split second they would help bring her from her panic. She could feel them burning, just for that moment, and her brain would nearly forget it's terror. But then it would remember, and her chest would constrict, and her feet would push harder against the ground. Faster, she thought. She didn't know if it was possible, it seemed as if she were already flying, but she had to get away. It was too much. And so when she felt one last root grab harshly at her feet, she only felt relief as her body crashed to the ground. Everything about that moment was welcome, and she let the sensation fill her brain. Her limbs burned from exertion, from thin cuts, and from the dark ruddy bruises that she wouldn't see, but could certainly feel. Needles and discarded twigs poked into her flesh. She could feel each one, especially those that felt especially rough on her face. Her head was tender, she had hit it none-too-gently on her way to the forest's floor. The forest floor felt cool, and even that she welcomed, because it was the only relief she had against her burning, battered skin. Her hands grasped at the dirt beneath the foliage and she pulled her knees close to her body.

She wanted to vanish. She wanted to disappear into the forest and cease to exist as this pale, pathetic thing lying alone in the woods. She was weak. She was so terrified . And she just wanted it to stop. Cold liquid trekked paths down her face, and her breath caught. Her chest constricted painfully, and suddenly it was just too much. No, it was not so suddenly. For too long she had experienced this. For too long she had been alone, and afraid, and weak, and pathetic. A low moan stole out of her throat, and the dam broke. Tears gushed cold and salty from her eyes. Her nose was wet and sloppy as all the pain escaped from her malnourished frame. Her body curled further in itself. She just didn't want to fight the pain anymore. She didn't want to fight and bottle her feelings anymore. She was tired of the guilt, and the doubt, and the anger that burned her and hollowed her. She was so tired of running. So she let it all wash over her, and it came as a tsunami until she thought she was going to drown and be lost in it all. And then, as her eyes dried, and her breath turned into soft hiccups, it all washed away. Her mind felt clear, and blissfully numb. She breathed in and felt the cold air fill her lungs. It smelled like crushed pine needles, juniper and dirt. She exhaled in a shaky sigh, and then her body stiffened as her mind caught up with the sound, or lack-thereof. With a rush, she moved to a crouch, hands grasping her knives in their sheaves. She was lucky she hadn't lost them during her mad flight. Or fallen on them. She listened to the world around her. How long had the birds been silent? She hadn't paid them any heed. She hadn't paid enough heed to anything, not even her direction. It was mistakes like these that got people killed. A soft rustle sounded to her left, and she honed in on the sound.

There was a possibility that the birds had been silent because of her noise, but, after all the other mistakes she had made today, she didn't want to make more assumptions. Her breath halted, and she waited, but no other sound was to be heard. It was deathly silent. What was happening? A twig snapped somewhere in the distance, but it seemed too far to be connected to the sound she heard earlier. She lifted one knife back to its sheaf and felt around her for the base of a tree. It would be best to have something solid to her back. It was then that she heard a scream echo resolutely throughout the forest. It was a feminine voice, and she swore as she realized that it came from the direction that her brain whispered was home. It was only a second till she was sprinting again, fear once again spiking into her heart. The emotion, though much too familiar, confused her. Why would she be afraid when the threat was so obviously not aimed at her this time? It could be that she anticipated the conflict, and that her body knew it was a very real possibility that she would run into this threat without even knowing what it was, but that left the question: why was she running towards it at all? It would be easy to just find a tree to climb and remain until whatever had caused that scream finished it's business and wandered off. Yet, even that thought caused a twisting in her gut. She felt that she had once knew what this feeling meant, but she no longer remembered. She only knew that she didn't like it. With a huff she pushed the thoughts into the back of her mind, and urged her feet to move just a little faster.

This time she kept aware. There were no more screams as she ran, and her nerves doubled. What if something had happened to that idiotic girl? She probably should've her more of the sleeping drug. But how could she have known that she would've run into that man at the store? A chill ran through her as she realized that perhaps it was drug that had brought about this trouble? Would it be her fault if she returned and the girl was dead? She couldn't have more death on her conscience. Yet, when she felt she was drawing near her home, her feet slowed. Again, there wasn't a sound to be heard. It seemed as if the entire forest had stilled. She took a long breath, and an acrid smell filled her nose. There was blood. She grew even more certain of it as she walked into camp. The smell was overwhelming, and her stomach turned. She fell to her knees, and heaved. _I should've been back sooner_, she thought as she harshly wiped her lips with her sleeve._ I shouldn't have broken down like I had_. But it was too late for all of that. There was no one here. Nothing made a sound. She would investigate what happened to the girl. But, not now. Now, she just wanted to curl in her bed and sleep. Perhaps whatever had killed the girl would come back. She supposed she wouldn't mind too terribly if she didn't wake up in the morning. No one else would. With that in mind, she pushed herself to her feet and felt for the door. It was sturdy beneath her hand, and worn smooth by years of… she paused as her hand ran down its length. The door previously had felt smooth like a pebble found in a lake, but now long scratches marred its surface. They weren't far enough apart to be from a bear, but no other animal made sense. Not many other animals would try to break into a house. She supposed that if a wolf were hungry enough, it would go after human prey, but if the girl had been in the house, why would she have opened the door? Her head rushed with thoughts and possibilities, and she grasped quickly for the door handle.

No sooner had she heard the words "Who are you? And what am I doing here?" when she felt the cold metal of what she presumed was one of her own daggers pressed against her throat.


	5. Chapter 5

_The Lady pulled the sheets back, and allowed the girl to clamber under the sheets till she was quite comfortable. Her daughter gazed up at her, a sleepy smile resting calmly upon her lips. The Lady's hand lifted to sweep back a strand of her daughter's hair, but her hand froze midair. The action had been without thought, but what would it hurt here in the privacy of this room? There was no one to see such inappropriate behavior, and her daughter was so young that surely such a small gesture wouldn't make much of a difference? With a slight upward twist of her lips, the Lady pushed the soft strands away from even softer skin. The girl's eyes closed, but the smile grew on her lips. "Now, child, this story is very important so you must remember," the Lady said, once again running her fingers through her daughter's soft hair. The little girl hummed with agreement and she shuffled further into a cocoon of soft blankets. "There once was a time when there were two friends, one with eyes the color of the sky, and one with the color of the earth. And just like the earth and they sky, they were very different. However, they were young, and when you're young these differences don't seem so big, so they played together every chance they got. In fact, they were best friends." _

"_Like Carlotta and I!" The young girl proclaimed, her bright blue eyes shooting open. _

_The Lady winced, but she could not argue so she merely said, "It's 'Carlotta and me,' darling. Now hush, child, so I can tell you the story." The little girl nodded, gazing up intently. "Now, these two friends did everything together. When one found a treasure, they made sure to share it between them. When one caught a fish, they would feast together. When one celebrated so did the other, and there was very little jealousy among them. But, time aged the boys and as they got older, they began to see less and less. Where they used to see the others' victories as their own, they began to see only arrogance, and a need for control. Where they once saw an adventure, a chance to grow together, they now only saw competition. Hear this, child, one's eyesight always gets worse as you age. Children see everything, but adults only look for what's right in front of their noses. Such is how the story goes. Perhaps they could have learned to live together despite their differences, but it was not meant to be. The boys were prideful, and all they ever learned was hunting, and adventuring, so they communicated with blows. And though a fist can explain "what", it can never say "why" and so they never learned to understand. They grew to resent each other, and it came to the point where they would not even sit in the same room. It always hurts the most when you see a friend you no longer know, someone who has become an enemy, and so the blows would never stop until a brave passerby would intervene. Eventually, it was decided. Though the boys had once shared the land, they decided they would separate. One boy, the oldest, thought to himself _I cannot go north to the mountains because then I will be surrounded by the blue sky, and it shall remind me of the other, and I will always be angry_ so he went south, to the deep rich earth. The other saw the oldest leave, and thought _I am glad he heads south, because if I had gone there, I would have been surrounded by the brown earth, and it would remind me of him, and I would always be angry_ so he went north, to the mountains. Eventually the lads turned into men, and they found their wives and raised their families. The boy in the north mined his mountains, and found they were rich with metals. He was quite happy and grew quite adept at melting and crafting with the deposits he found. His skin grew light, like the clouds floating in the heavens, and his eyes were as blue as the sky that surrounded him. The other boy, the one in the south, grew into the land. He found that the green-brown river that he built his home by provided fertilization for the ground, and fish for his table. He learned all the right seasons for planting, and he learned to cook many things. He, too, was quite happy with his lot, and his skin browned while he worked in the fields. Even his eyes were rich and dark like soil after it's been tilled. And because the men were happy, and prosperous, they had many children, and their children had many children until soon two sprawling kingdoms were born: the Kingdom of the South, Tsalerian, and the Kingdom to the North, Ptolema. And though it is said that time will heal all wounds, we know the saying isn't always true, because the wounds between the boys have only festered. That is why, even to this day, our two Kingdoms rage and war against each other." The lady brushed back her daughter's hair, tucking it behind her ear. "If nothing else, remember this: there is a time for peace, and there is a time for war. Many adults can no longer see the difference, but you are young, and you see many things. Be brave, darling. Braver than your father and I, and maybe we can see a day when this constant warring ends." Maybe, the Lady thought, we can see a day when the nobility no long have to wage this pointless war amongst themselves. She watched as her daughter's eyes fluttered. "Good night, child" the Lady whispered as she lifted her petite frame off the bed. "I love you," she murmured as she shut the door behind her. _

A growl escaped her throat before a second thought registered. With a smooth motion, she grasped the girl's small wrist at a pressure point. Perhaps she pressed her thumb unnecessarily hard into the tender spot, but she did not appreciate being threatened, especially with her own knife, and especially after she had been _worried_. She had been worried for a human and this is how she was being repaid? She pressed harder, and she heard the blade clatter harmlessly to the ground at the same time as a small grunt escaped from her "captor". A smirk graced her lips, and she twisted so that the girl was forced to turn. Within a matter of moments, the girl's faced was pressed into the wall, her arm digging into her spine, forcing her to stay.

The huntress' smile grew absolutely feral as she leaned forward to whisper in the girl's ear. "I ask the questions."

"How dare you!" The girl said as she squirmed in her hold. _How dare I_, thought the huntress with a wry twist of her lips. The comment was so ridiculous, so pointless; responding would've been a waste of breath. She dug the girl's arm further into her spine until she heard a whimper. "I'm. . ."

"I do not care who you are," the huntress growled lowly, roughly. Her throat was tender, and she couldn't remember the last time that she had used it this much. "Beauty" she added shortly. Only someone beautiful could get away with being dumb enough to walk alone into a forest hunted by a Beast, so that would be her name. A constant reminder that life is nicer, kinder and more forgiving, to those with pretty faces and skin. "What happened here?" she questioned. The girl's, _Beauty's_, only response was to spit on the ground. The huntress froze for a second, surprised by the audacity, the bravery, that the vapid girl was showing. A wicked smile once again graced her lips. How far could she go? She leaned further into the girl's body, taller and fuller than her own, and pressed her knee into where she knew the girl's wound lie. She could hear Beauty's breath grow sharper, shorter. Good, let her learn. "Talk" she rasped. Her voice was getting too gravely.

"No," Beauty rasped. Why wouldn't she just talk? What was the point of refusing? The huntress pressed harder. She could feel Beauty's body quivering. _Just talk, already_ she thought, slightly panicked. She had never been in this situation before. Why? "I. . ." she said. Her breath came in short, heavy bursts. "will. . . not. . ." For a second, the huntress' actions paused. For a second, shame and disgust washed over her. What was she doing? But that was just for a second. Blood rushed to the huntress' ears, so loud it sounded like the roar of a river. It was this girl! Why must she be stubborn? There was no point to this shallow idiocy! Rage overtook the huntress and a growl pushed low and rough through her tender throat. She could feel as her body dug into the girl's spoiled, tender back. The bone of her knee dug into the girl's calf. She could tell that Beauty's wound had been reopened, but she did not care. Whose fault was that? She should've just listened. The girl gave only a meager grunt, before her body sagged heavily. The huntress grunted before lowering the girl to the floor. Let the stubborn girl sleep where she lay. The huntress couldn't have moved her even if she wanted to, and, truth be told, she didn't really want to. It had been far too long since she had slept in her own bed. Perhaps the girl could learn a lesson or two tonight. The world was cruel to those it did not favor. That was the only thing she knew. Cruelty and pain and been faithful tutors to her throughout the years. And the huntress only knew to do what she had been taught.

The huntress stepped away, but paused when she felt a brush against her foot. The girl let out a whimper, and the huntress crouched, already cursing her stupidity. Of course, she had opened the wound. All it took was a light touch to know the girl was bleeding again. Though the huntress cared nothing for the girl, she was stupid and she was brave, she knew letting the injury fester would cause even more trouble. Of course, that's all the girl had been since she had arrived, one trouble after another. She really didn't want to think about why she even bothered. That would lead to more questions than the Huntress wanted answered at the moment. With a sigh, she shifted grabbing the bucket of water she left by the door. Yet, her hand grabbed only air. Faltering, the Huntress hesitated. Could the girl have moved it? Why would she do that? What exactly had gone on here? Moving to her knees, she could feel the knots in the well-tread wood. It was smooth beneath her fingers, but, yes, there was something… sticky, too. She brought her hand to her nose, and instantly she smelled the sharp tang of blood. Curiosity burned inside her, and she rubbed her fingers together. It was too congealed to be recent. Had she missed a spot when cleaning? No, but the girl's wound hadn't been open in… she didn't know how long. Days? A week? Two? The girl had never thought of keeping track of days other than to know day from night. This blood, though congealed, wasn't nearly dry enough to be from the girl. Then from what? The feel of scratches on an old wooden door jumped to mind, and the huntress' curiosity grew. Had the beast gotten in? Surely not, because then where was it? There was no way the idiot of a girl had killed the thing large enough, and desperate enough, to leave those scratches on the door. Of course not, it must have been something else. Maybe the girl had opened her wound herself earlier. It was the only explanation that made sense. It was better than she continue searching for the bucket. Where had the idiot of a girl moved the thing to? Probably to clean the wound herself, come to think of it. If she had opened her wound, it would only make sense that she would've tried to clean it with the fresh water. But where was that bucket? The Beast's patience was growing thin, and she hopped that the girl would wake with a crick in her neck. There was a perfectly good reason she kept that bucket in the same place every time.

Her breath caught in her throat. Course fur brushed against her hand, like that of a wolf. But that just wasn't possible. It wasn't. Her hand shakily lifted higher, feeling the grime layered like a second coat upon fur. No. Surely not. But, as she traced the creatures body, she felt the four legs strong from wandering the woods. She could feel scars across it's body, patches of skin so damaged, not even fur could grow there any longer. She could feel deep ridges between bones and she suddenly understood this wolf's desperation. It was a rogue, a loner, and if it hadn't taken this risk, it would've died soon anyway. Pity welled up in her and once again tears pushed against her eyes. This wolf had been rejected from its family, or maybe they had all been killed. It didn't really matter. It was alone. It had no one, and it had died. What if it had died knowing that no one would care? That it was hated because it was so desperate it attacked? It died alone, and the world just kept turning. Like it always had. Like it always would. Lying all alone. No one cared. Her hand pushed to her mouth trying to hold in her sobs. She didn't care that even now she could feel blood on her fingers. Why did it have to be alone? Her other hand tightened in it's fur and she learned forward so she could bury her face in it's grimy coat. " I won't forget you" She hiccupped. Her voice was still scratchy in her throat and she coughed. It was dead. It was over, and no one cared about a mangy wolf that died in the woods. No one would notice that suddenly one less life existed in this world, one that had existed for nigh on 23 years. A heavy breath, almost as heavy as the weight on her chest, lay on her lips and she let it go. It filled the silence and she rubbed her head. It was just a wolf, but it had meant something. Surely it had mattered, somehow. Maybe. She brushed it's fur, just once more, and she could feel her tears still wet on it's fur. She buried hand deep within it, and she could feel that the hair underneath was soft and new. The grim hadn't gotten through the fuller outer coat, and she could still feel the warmth it trapped. Her hand felt strangely cold when she pulled it away. She stood with yet another sigh, and moved over to Beauty. The girl didn't make a sound as she lay on the ground. Even when the Beast lifted her by her arms, she didn't even whimper.

It took a long moment to drag the girl towards the only bed in the small shack, and an even longer one to force the unconscious girl on the bed. She was just going to leave it at that, but something in her paused. Her hand stretched out almost of it's own accord, but she didn't recoil, at least, not until she felt the soft texture of Beauty's hair rub against her own roughened hands. Beauty's hair was nothing like the wolf's fur. It was soft and long in her fingers. It was thick, but not like the wolf's. It slipped through her fingers, and dropped back down to the mattress. "I forgive you," the huntress said, but buried beneath the surface were the words "I hope you can forgive me, too". With that, she turned and lay down on her pile of blankets and fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, it was as it had always been. There was no light to greet her. The air was warmer, that was her only indication that day had risen. Well, that, and the birds' chirps. Even inside she could hear them faintly as the rested and sang upon the cabin's roof. Everything was the same, and yet something had changed. She could feel the presence, or absence, maybe, of something inside her. She lifted her hand to her eyes and pressed on them like that could make the world be even more hidden from her. Like it could protect her. "You look like you've been to hell and back," Beauty said. Beast shot up from her position on the floor, her mouth falling into a nearly perfect "o". With a quick motion of her hand, she brought her hands to rest on the daggers she had forgotten to take out of their cases last night. "I can imagine I look just as bad," she added. "Not that it matters, anymore," she finished lamely.

"Why?" was what she said, but not close enough to what she meant. She wanted to know why Beauty was still here. She wanted to why she hadn't left. Why she hadn't run away while the Beast was still asleep. A spark of something filled the beast, overwhelmed her, really, because she had never felt such an emotion before. What was it? The girl, Beauty, did not respond and quickly anxiety took over. "Why?" she repeated again, with a growl to her words because her throat was quickly getting sore.

"I shrug… " Silence had never sounded so loud and Beast stiffened further. She desperately tried to control her facial muscles, she tried to remain removed, but she wasn't sure if it worked. "Byrok's breath…" the girl breathed. "You can't see."

"That means nothing!" Beast shouted, and she could feel the girl quivering. She pictured it clearly in her head, and it with added bravado, the Beast smirked. "Shot you," she said, nearly a taunt, but not quite. After all, it had been mostly an accident; an unfortunate luck that had brought them on this path where both parties lost.

And perhaps the girl was more clever than she let on, and braver than Beast would think, because it was with a voice, clear like a river or the still of a lake, that she said, "but you didn't kill me."


End file.
